


Quinn Fabray, Fallen

by GraceSav



Series: Faberry Week June 2012 [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pre-Relationship, Skank Quinn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3456296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceSav/pseuds/GraceSav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late and raining when Rachel comes home from an underwhelming date with Finn to find none other than Quinn Fabray on her doorstep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quinn Fabray, Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> This is one was for the "drunk" prompt. I never managed to finish it until now.

Normally, Rachel loves the rain. But it’s after eleven o’clock at night, she’s driving, and she _just_ escaped from one of the _worst_ dates Finn Hudson has _ever_ “planned.” Pinball at the Laundromat on 12 th Street may be a great night for him, but when he tells her he’s picking her up for, “dinner and some fun,” she doesn’t anticipate McDonald’s. Mc _Donald_ ’s. At the _Laundromat_. And _pinball_. She pulls into her driveway, huffing and whacking the steering wheel in frustration. Rachel has tried so hard to love that boy. The least he could do is try a little in return.

 

Before Rachel embarks on the trek to her front door, she reaches into the center console for her trusty umbrella, though when her hand meets nothing but maps and some melted lip balm, she groans. _This is not my night._ Deciding to put on a brave face, she bolts from the car to the path that leads to her porch, where she has trees to protect her. There is a huge muddy puddle to the left of where she stands, and Rachel begins to panic when she sees the trail of sludge and sloppy foot prints leading away from it. As she follows them up to her home, they become more precise, and she denotes that they were left by what seems to be heavy boots. Her heart races a little faster, anxiety rising, until she draws her eyes up to her Daddy’s rocking chair. Curled up in the seat is one Quinn Fabray, absolutely coated in mud. Rachel may have laughed, if she and Quinn were friends. If Quinn were conscious. If Quinn were blonde. If Quinn were sans one paper bag in her lap, obviously hiding a bottle. If there weren’t six cigarette butts at the girl’s feet.

 

There are many ifs.

 

But here Quinn lies, obviously in a drunken stupor. Rachel’s posture slumps as she steps closer to the former blonde. Rachel is so thankful her fathers are in Akron for the weekend. If she had to explain this to them- Well, she couldn’t very well explain it, actually. She couldn’t explain it at all, which is why she inches even closer to the girl, noticing the mud has begun to dry in her tangled hair. At this distance, Rachel can notice many things; mascara tracks down the girl’s pale, sunken cheeks, a small stud in her nose, a crucifix hanging from her neck, an obscene hand gesture on her dirt encrusted tank top. Rachel’s gaze drops to Quinn’s right arm, starting at her bare shoulder, passing her scraped elbow, stopping at her forearm. Stopping, because there’s something there. Stopping, because she sees a round, bumpy scar, then another, and another. Then, six fresh, circular wounds, each matching the burnt ends of the six cigarette butts at her feet. At this point, Rachel is void of emotion. So many feelings are swirling through her mind, piercing her heart, too many, and all she can feel is numb. Then-

 

“Shit!” Quinn jumps, then nearly falls from the now precariously teetering rocking chair in trying to catch the bottle falling from her lap. Once her treasure is safe, her left index and middle fingers fly to her mouth, nursing her newest wounds, and that’s when Rachel notices the still burning cigarette, now on the ground after falling from what she can only assume was its perch between Quinn’s fingers. As Quinn reaches for it with her uninjured right hand, Rachel clears her throat. Quinn starts, once again dropping the cigarette, and looking up at Rachel’s face, unable to focus her own eyes on the girl’s.

 

There are fresh tears running down Quinn’s face, and the vulnerability Rachel sees there finally and viciously pulls an emotion to the surface of her inner turmoil. The grief hits her like nothing she’s ever imagined. The pain she sees in those broken hazel eyes almost brings her to her knees. But she doesn’t fall. She doesn’t fall because her sense of responsibility for this enigmatic creature in front of her pushes her to care for it. Rachel feels it’s her fault Quinn is here, like this. She feels she should have done something four weeks ago when she saw the newly skankified girl in the alley behind the gas-station-slash-liquor-store on 17th and Ash. Quinn had been leaning against the wall, a rather old looking man towering over her, holding a skateboard in one hand, the other against the wall, directly beside Quinn’s head. Rachel had wanted to do something so very badly, but she was afraid. She’s still afraid. But she knows this is her time to step up. To be the hero she has always wanted to be for Quinn. So she steps closer to Quinn once more and wipes the tears from her cheeks.

 

“Come on, let’s go inside.”

 

“What?”

 

Rachel tilts her head and gestures toward the door, “Come inside so you can get cleaned up. Please.”

 

Quinn tries to stand, managing to exude little of the grace she used to ooze, “N-no…I, uh…sh-should go. Um, I dunno w-why I’m here any…anyway. I’m gross and your house isn’t and I taint everything I touch just let me…see?” Quinn straightens and points sloppily at the walkway, “I can just follow my footsteps and go. It’ll be like Dorothy or something. I’ve got Todo here in my bag, I’ll just be on my way.” Her Dr. Marten tries to find the step that will guide her away from this haven she has found, but the heel stays caught on the porch and she immediately tumbles forward into the rain, into LeRoy’s precious gardenia’s.

 

Another little piece of Rachel shuts down. “Are you alright, Quinn?” She wills herself to open her eyes, unclench her fists.

 

Quinn groans, quietly, cradling her arm, her fingers yet again in her mouth, nursing the burns, the rain soaking her once more.

 

At this point, it is all Rachel can do to separate herself from the emotions this site would normally elicit in her, and she decides that Quinn looks pitiful. Determined, she marches down the two steps and reaches to yank the girl from the bushes. “Frankly, Quinn, I am rather upset with you for drunkenly destroying my favorite flowers and forcing me to drag your dripping self into my home rather than just coming willingly and creating much less of a mess. You are coming inside. Now.”

 

Chastised, Quinn lets herself be lead up the steps, and to the door. Rachel reaches into her coat pocket for the keys and tries to slide to correct one into the lock. Only then, does she realize her hands are shaking.

 

“Can I help?”

 

Rachel feels her hands and eyes clench. “No, Quinn. After your little performance just a moment ago, I don’t think I could trust you with even the simplest of tasks.” She steels herself to try again, and she thinks she almost has it when she hears a sniffle. “Oh, Quinn.”

 

Tears are streaming down the girls face. “No, Ra-rach…el, you’re right. I’m not good for anything at all.”

 

Rachel turns around and tries again, managing to open the door rather quickly and pulls Quinn into the warmth. “Honey, Quinn, no, that’s not what I meant at all. I’m just frustrated and you are clearly inhibited by god knows what.” Rachel pushes a mat of pink behind Quinn’s ear, “Any other time you would be perfectly good for plenty of things.”

 

Quinn sighs and takes in a hefty sniff, roughly rubbing under her nose. Disregarding any possible compliments, she focuses on one minor comment, “You’re frustrated? Is it because of me? I said I can leave…I-I’m so sorry, Rachel. I’m sorry.”

 

Rachel is struck by the not-quite-blonde’s utter sincerity, and continuing tears. “No, sweetheart, it’s not you…I,” she sighs, deeply, “it’s not you but honestly I just can’t deal with all of this right now. One thing at a time, and right now, you. You are dripping mud all over daddy’s hardwood and he would kill us both if he knew. To think, we have a mud room and it is nowhere near the front door. Whose bright idea was that?” She guides an overwhelmed Quinn into the nearest bathroom, sitting her down on the toilet. Crouching down, Rachel looks Quinn straight in the eyes and says, sternly, “Do not even think of moving from this very spot, alright?” When tears start again to well up in big innocent eyes, Rachel immediately follows up with a gentler, “I just don’t want you getting yourself hurt, or lost. You’ve only ever been in my basement. This is a big scary house when you’re all alone. Okay?” When Quinn nods, childishly, Rachel takes that as her cue to walk out. “I’ll be right back!” During her walk to the laundry room, she’s reminded of her shaking hands. Whether it’s nerves, adrenaline, or faintness, she knows she has to push through. Quinn is the priority right now. “Quinn is always your priority,” she reminds herself, “any time she’s in the room.” Rachel grabs some rags to wipe up the mess on the entryway floor and a plastic bag. On her way back through the front living room, she drops a few of the towels on the sludge before running up the stairs. First, she heads into her daddies’ bedroom and grabs the first aid kit, then takes it into her room. After she has set up a mini trauma station in her bathroom, she grabs a ratty old t-shirt and shorts, and prepares herself to head back downstairs. She knocks, gently, on the bathroom door, so as not to startle the girl.

 

“Come in.” Quinn doesn’t even seem to have adjusted her position in her seat, until Rachel sees the bottle back in her hands, this time minus the paper bag. Rachel thinks it’s vodka. Cheap vodka, at that, if the plastic bottle has anything to say for itself, and it’s two sips from empty. “I’d th-thhhought you might’ve jusss decide…decided to leave me here. I was, was sad, but I don’ blame you. It’s what mos people do.”

 

Rachel pries the bottle from Quinn’s hand, and Quinn hisses when Rachel brushes her wounds. “We need to take care of those, but first, let’s get you clean.” Rachel tries to help her up, but Quinn doesn’t seem to be able to shift her weight and get herself on her feet. Rachel tries to pull her up herself, and with great effort, she finally manages to haul the girl’s dead weight up and against herself. She realizes Quinn must have had a lot more to drink in the short span that she was gone. It scares her to imagine how much more. She sits Quinn down again on the edge of the bathtub, and Quinn automatically slumps against the wall, her butt dangerously sliding a few inches on the enamel. Rachel begins to run the water as tears finally start to run down her cheeks. She lets a few fall, then stops herself and wipes them off before Quinn can see. Wishing there were a way through this process to preserve Quinn’s modesty, she begins to undress her.

 

Quinn seems to stir from her stupor and notices Rachel struggling with the laces of her boots. “Y-you don have to do this you know. I-I can jus go home.”

 

“Quinn, stop trying to protest. There is no way I’d let you even try to walk out of here at this point.” She finally manages to pull one boot off. “Honestly, I don’t mind this much. I enjoy caring for people, even if I do wish you were a little less dirty, and a little less drunk.” At this, Quinn pulls an odd grin, that doesn’t really look in the least bit happy. It tugs painfully on Rachel’s heart. By now, she has gotten Quinn’s baggy Tripp pants off, and moves on to her shirt.

 

“Guess wha…” Quinn huffs out an almost-laugh. “I’m not wearing a bra.” There’s that grin again.

 

Rachel falters a bit in her movements, thinking of the fact that these were never the circumstances she had fantasized of this happening under, but she knows she has to continue. Quinn is the priority. She draws her eyes up to hazy hazel, and keeps them there as she lifts the shirt over a pink head. Quinn braces her arms on the tub, attempting to maintain the eye contact they are sharing, and lifts up her hips. Rachel takes the cue and slides the girl’s panties down her legs, quickly looking away. She gathers the wet clothes together and shoves them into the plastic bag she had grabbed earlier. Trying not to think of the way it felt as her knuckles had dragged against pale skin, she turns back to the other girl, toeing off her flats and placing one foot in the tub. “Come on,” Rachel reaches for Quinn’s hand, “In you go.”

 

Quinn wobbles as she relies on Rachel to help her slide into the water. “Are you coming in with me?”

 

Rachel almost wants to laugh at Quinn’s attempt at a sultry wink. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m just here to help.” Rachel had almost laughed, but once she sat down to get to business, she finally noticed the cuts and blood on pale ribs. “Oh, Quinn, oh honey.”

 

Quinn looks up earnestly, “Issokay Rach, th-they’re old, I promise.”

 

Rachel reaches for the body wash. “Not quite, if they’re still bleeding.”

 

Quinn shakes her head, “No, really. I did it some weeks ago. I jus scratch them sometimes…”

 

“Yes, Quinn. Wound irritation and preventing healing are also forms of self-harm.” She squirts some soap into the palm of her hand, rubbing it against her other, and reaches toward Quinn.

 

Quinn slaps her hand away, weakly, “Shhh, no. Thas not it. You didn’t see any of it.” Apparently the girl can no longer hold herself up, and she slumps suddenly against the back of the tub.

 

“Alright, Quinn. Will you let me clean you up now?” She takes the girls silence as a yes, and moves again to clean the blood from her wounds. Quinn hisses, but lets her continue. Quickly, Rachel does the same to Quinn’s arm, eliciting another cry of pain. Once Rachel is satisfied enough to move on, Quinn’s eyes slip shut under her ministrations. Rachel wets her hands and wipes the mascara tracks from beneath sad eyes, wondering if the girl had been crying over something specific, or just the state of things. Rachel has so many questions, but she knows now is not the time to seek answers. She grabs a cup from the shower caddy and fills it with water, pouring it over Quinn’s wild pink mane. Another question Rachel would like to have answered. Quinn hums in pleasure when Rachel begins massaging shampoo through her hair.

 

“Your fingers are gonna be pink.”

 

Rachel is jerked from her thoughts by the statement. Quinn is still laying, unmoving in the tub. Rachel had assumed she was halfway unconscious at this point. “Well that’s just fine. Pink is my favorite color.”

 

“I know. That’s why I did it.” Quinn’s eyes are still closed but Rachel senses something has changed, that Quinn is more aware of what she’s saying than she was a few minutes ago.

 

Rachel blinks. “You dyed your hair because my favorite color is pink.”

 

Quinn huffs out a laugh. “Nooo, silly, I just chose pink because I knew you’d like it. I dyed it just to… feel different. To change. I… I needed a change.”

 

Rachel’s hands pause in there ministrations, as she contemplates pushing further. “Is that why you did all of this?”

 

Quinn’s eyes blink open. “All of what?”

 

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Quinn, I know you know what I’m talking about. If you don’t want to tell me just say so.”

 

Quinn lifts her head to look Rachel in the eye. “Fine. I don’t want to tell you.” Rachel huffs in annoyance. “I knew it.”

 

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Knew what?”

 

“I knew… that you… wouldn’t just let it be… if I said I didn’t. want. to tell. you.” And just like that, Quinn’s eyes are closed again, her head tilted back, resting on the tile.

 

Rachel pulls her foot out of the tub and stands, soapy hands on her hips. “Well I never said I would, I just asked you to be frank with me, and quite frankly, I think I deserve an explanation, considering whose tub you’re in.”

 

Quinn sits up fast, Rachel can tell she made herself dizzy as she gathers bubbles to cover her chest. She sighs. “Rach, there’s not much of an explanation.” She reaches for the body wash Rachel set in the corner. “Can I have a wash cloth?”

Rachel hands her one and watches as Quinn starts to clean herself. It’s interesting to her, how washing away the dirt and grime and blood was like washing away Quinn’s new persona. The only vestige is her pink hair, but Rachel thinks it almost suits her. After all, each version of Quinn Rachel has known so far seemed to be a façade, but this version she has in front of her, vulnerable and soft and warm, seems to be the Quinn Rachel has always seen underneath. Quinn’s ran the washcloth over almost each inch of her body once she starts to talk.

 

“I’m just sad. I’m sad and I’ve been sad for sooo long. And I thought that maybe if I just tried a _little_ harder to be like Franny things would finally work out. If I got a nose job, if I dyed my hair blonde, if I joined the Cheerios, if I wore dresses, if I joined celibacy club, if I dated the quarterback, if I dated _any_ boy… I thought maybe then I’d finally be happy. Maybe I’d finally be able to make friends that had no ult-ulterior motive. I tried and I tried and I failed every time and then I just decided that I wasn’t going to try any more. So that’s what this was supposed to be. Me, not trying.

“But, as it turns out, doing everything you possibly can to separate yourself from your _former_ self _is_ trying. I’m still not happy, in fact, I think I’ve somehow managed to become even less happy than I was before. I don’t like who I’ve been lately. I don’t want to be on the edges of society, trying to tear everyone down. I don’t want to steal or cheat or spend every night getting wasted with people who don’t even care whether I’m okay.” Quinn is crying now, and Rachel can tell she’s still pretty drunk, because she seems to have somewhat forgotten that Rachel is there, because when Rachel sits back down on the edge of the tub to rest a hand between Quinn’s shoulders, Quinn flinches, but she relaxes into the touch after a moment. She looks up at Rachel through watery eyes, “I don’t want to be like my parents, Rach. I don’t want to be like the skanks. I don’t want to push my problems away and drown them in liquor. I just don’t even know who I am. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be like other people because they told me everything I wanted for myself was wrong and now I don’t even know what I actually like or who I want to be. I just know what I don’t want and I don’t want this.”

 

Rachel wraps her arms around Quinn as she starts to sob. “Shhh, Quinn. Shh.” Quinn’s hands come up to cling to Rachel’s arms. “I know this isn’t you Quinn. You don’t have to pretend to be someone else anymore. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Shhh, honey. You’ll never have to pretend with me.”


End file.
